


Please Be My Distraction

by frerardist



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hopeful/Happy Ending, M/M, Open Ending, Possibility of a Part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frerardist/pseuds/frerardist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Frank is upset, Gerard is his favorite distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Be My Distraction

It’s become a pattern of theirs. Whenever Frank is upset (see: incredibly nervous and/or on the verge of a panic attack), or has had a particularly rough day at work, he finds Gerard, usually curled up on the couch with a book or a sketchpad, because that’s what he does in the evenings, and curls up right beside him. He doesn’t say anything, at least not at first. Rather, he simply snuggles into Gerard's side as close as he can manage, and rests his head on his shoulder, holding on to whatever part of Gerard’s body is most convenient (usually an arm, unless he’s drawing.)

If he _is_ drawing, Frank just watches, eyes following intricate lines and sharp angles as he focuses on keeping his breathing slow, like his therapist instructed him. If Gerard’s reading, he reads along with him if it’s interesting, and simply counts the words on the pages if it’s not. Gerard always waits for Frank’s signal to turn the page, never seeming to get impatient. They sit like that, in contented silence until Gerard breaks it. Frank never does because he never knows how. Talking about the things that upset him is upsetting in itself, and a part of Frank is always worried it will sound crazy. That Gerard will laugh and tell Frank to get over it. But even more than that, Frank’s afraid Gerard will agree with him; tell him he should be afraid because all the things he's afraid of will happen, and he’s told Gerard these things, expressed his worries too many times to count, and each time Gerard promises that it will be okay, that it will be _Frank’s_ definition of okay, and no, he’s not saying that just to make him feel better, but because he really believes it. And no, Frank’s not crazy. And lastly, no, Gerard’s never going to get tired of putting up with him, because he doesn’t _feel_ like he’s ‘putting up with’ anything at all.

And it’s reassuring, and it helps, but sometimes it’s not enough, like today.

Frank comes home from work, worry nagging at the back of his mind, scratching and clawing like a wild animal in a cage, and Frank spent the entire drive home trying to distract himself. He tried thinking about something else, counting his breaths, planning, in great detail, exactly what he’s going to do once he gets home- from the soap he’ll use in the shower to the underwear he’ll put on- and it’s a decent enough distraction while he’s thinking about it, but he can only keep it up for so long, and as soon as he stops thinking about it, the worry is back. That, and the sick feeling deep in his stomach and the racing of his heart. He drives a little faster, just wanting to get home.

When he walks through the door, Gerard’s on the couch, this time watching TV (he must have run out of books to read. Frank will try to remember to pick him something up and surprise him the next time he goes to town. He thinks about what Gerard might like, and which books he already has, while he toes his shoes off and takes off his jacket, and again, it’s a nice distraction while it lasts, but Frank can only think about it for so long.) Gerard looks up and smiles, and Frank sort of wants to cry, just because Gerard is so happy and Frank should be too, he wants to be, but there’s something stopping him. Even when he is happy, laughing and giddy, it’s still there, in the back of his mind, a quiet rapping on the door of an old house that will fall down at any minute.

“How was work?” It’s what Gerard always asks, and Frank smiles, if a bit weakly.

“Fine. I’m gonna take a shower, though. I feel gross.” He makes a face, scrunching up his nose, and Gerard laughs from his spot on the couch, smiling fondly.

“I made dinner.” He adds as Frank’s walking down the hall of their apartment to their bedroom.

“I’m not hungry.” Frank calls over his shoulder.

He rummages through Gerard’s drawers, finding an old, worn out t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants because he likes that Gerard’s clothes fit him a little looser than his own, and how they somehow always manage to smell just like him, even fresh out of the dryer. He pads into their bathroom and cranks the water as hot as he can stand it and steps in as soon as it’s heated up. He washes quickly and dries of just as fast, and dresses in Gerard’s clothes. Fifteen minutes later, he’s back in the living room, hovering in the doorway and contemplating watching TV with Gerard or just going to bed. After a few seconds, he notices Gerard looking at him, concerned and a bit sad, and he’s back to wanting to cry again. He doesn’t even know why, and he hates it. It makes him feel childish and stupid because what kind of grown ass man goes around crying for no goddamn reason. 

He blinks away the wetness in his eyes and decides to sit with Gerard, snuggling close and settling his head on his shoulder. Gerard’s watching a rerun of some early 2000’s sitcom. The main character just did something stupid and everybody is laughing. Except Frank, because he’s crying. Not wrenching sobs, but those silent tears that slip out of the corners of your eyes and leave you red-faced and runny-nosed. He looks away, at the opposite wall, and hopes Gerard won’t notice him, which is dumb, because Gerard notices everything, the fucker.

“Frank?”

He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head and continues staring at the wall, refusing to look at Gerard.

“What’s wrong? Babe, come on.”

Frank shakes his head again, sniffling and hauling in a deep breath.

"Hey, look at me. Please." When Frank still doesn't answer, he tugs on his arm, but Frank's stubborn, so it takes a few tries to get him to actually turn around.

"What?" He huffs, sounding annoyed and scrubbing at his eyes.

Gerard doesn't say anything at first, just pulls him against his side and squeezes him tight, much like a child would their favorite stuffed toy, and holds him until his breathing slows.

"Is it worse today?"

Frank nods against his shoulder, rubbing his face on Gerard's sweater.

"Is it- is it the same stuff as usual?" 

"Yeah." Frank whispers. "But like, it's worse. And I also just feel like shit. I just want, I don't know. I want to get better."

Gerard holds him tighter, rubs his hand along Frank's back.

"I know. You will. It'll be okay. I promise. _And_ ," He adds before Frank can ask the question, because Frank _always_ asks the question. "I'm not just saying that so you'll leave me alone. I mean it. I love you too fuckin' much to lie about this shit." 

Frank laughs, because he _can't not._ The knot in his chest loosens slightly, and he breathes just the tiniest bit easier. They sit quietly for a few minutes, watching TV, and Gerard starts playing with Frank's hair, running his fingers through the strands and massaging his scalp because he's learned from experience that it calms Frank down.

Eventually, Frank says, "Talk to me about something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. I don't want to think about this anymore."

Gerard's quiet, thinking, and then, "I met with a really weird client today." 

"How? I mean- how were they weird?"

Gerard tells him, and only exaggerates a little bit. He can't help it though, because it makes Frank laugh, really laugh, with his head thrown back and eyes crinkling, and it's worth it to see him like that. That story leads to another, and another, and Gerard keeps talking, stopping every once in a while when Frank has something to add, playing with his hair the whole time. Eventually the laughter dies down and Frank's tears have long since dried up. He yawns so big that his jaw cracks and he giggles at that, too. He feels better, lighter. Like maybe Gerard's right.

He can feel Gerard staring at him, studying his face.

"Sometimes," he begins cautiously, "I feel like I'm just being stupid. Like everything will somehow work itself out. And when I feel like, all of the things I worry about seem ridiculous. And it's good. I feel happy."

"One day you'll feel like that all the time." He says with a sad smile.

"If you don't get tired of putting up with my shit by then." 

"But you see, the thing is, I never feel like I'm 'putting up' with you. So I don't think you need to worry about that."

Frank smiles big and bright and looks at the clock.

"It's midnight."

"You tired?"

"A little bit. Take me to bed?"

"To do what?"

"To _sleep_ , you asshole." Frank smacks him in the shoulder, but Gerard's just so fucking happy to see him smiling.

"Of course, m'lady," He says in the worst accent Frank has ever heard. 

Frank snorts and gets up, leaving him on the couch.

"I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"Shut the fuck up." He groans, but goes back to grab Gerard's hand and pull him into the bedroom.

"Well, m'lady, this does seem awfully forward of y-"

"Shut _up_." He groans again.

Gerard laughs and catches him from behind, wrapping his arms around him. "You love me," He says against Frank's neck.

"I do." Frank says quietly. Gerard hugs him tighter.

"You don't fucking _know_ how much I love you."

Frank doesn't say anything until they're under the covers and he's snuggled up against Gerard's side.

"I think I have a pretty good idea."

Gerard doesn't say anything, just hums and goes back to playing with his hair.


End file.
